Disclaimer: Nope not mine. Not all of it, anyway. Most of this belongs to
the makers of the "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" movies, T.V. series, comics,
and books as well as to the makers of the books, comics and T.V. series
"Angel". Although, the characters from Glen Ivy Academy, as well as
Marissa, Da-Xia and the rest, are of my own imagination.
Great Russell Street, England, 2002.
The main building of the Council of Watchers had been blown up into bits. Chunks of brick, slivers of glass, and hunks of stone lay scattered over the broken gravel, much of the debris also containing within it the flesh, blood, and bone of Watchers, Council operatives, Slayers-in-Training, and many of the demons that the Council had secretly kept there to observe and study, possibly to find ways of annihilating them. The disaster area was a heartbreaking site to take in, what with all the memories of the grand old building wiped out with the explosion.
The scene, though, was even sadder if one such as Marissa Hathaway were to come upon it as the Watcher did at that moment, her beautiful face pale with worry and wet with tears. Marissa, thirty-four, was a former Slayer-in- Training who had never been Chosen turned Watcher. She was, if anything, strikingly beautiful, as most Slayers and Slayers-in-Training were prone to be. She stood silently, yet gracefully, dressed in an expensive Chanel suit in a shade of buttery cream, with a silky pale peach shirt inside. Her cream briefcase stood next to her right leg, an expensive piece by Prada, which only a Watcher such as Marissa could afford.
Yet, at that moment, nothing mattered. The Council's headquarters had been destroyed, and along with that senior-most members of the Council as well as the girls most likely to be Called. For all the centuries the Council had put in to battle the forces of darkness, here stood their end. Rubble. Nothing less, nothing more. Just rubble, which in the end just equaled rubbish.
Marissa sighed raggedly, wiping away tears on both cheeks, wishing that she could blame the Order of Sages for this massacre, but knowing that she would be wrong. It was not the Sages who had done this for, in spite of the ages-old rivalry between the peace-loving Sages and the battle-ready Watchers; it was not in the Sages' power to do something so cruel and vicious. Mass-murder could never be the modus operandi of the Sages. But, what then? What could be so heartless as to destroy the Council Headquarters? Joseph Heinrich Nest was long dead, and Skrymir had not been heard of since the incident back in the early 1900's concerning Spike and Drusilla trying to stop the line of the Chosen Ones.
The line of the Chosen Ones.
Suddenly, Marissa's mission came back to her head. The whole reason she had returned to the Headquarters in the first place. Marissa, who had been searching for her ward for the past two years, had remained unsuccessful in finding her and, upon hearing of the sudden spurt of dead Slayers-in- Training, had come to the Council to see if her ward was possibly one of the girls killed. Looks like she would have to keep her hunt going for the girl whom she was supposed to train. Marissa was already late in trying to find the girl, and she was positive that this girl was definitely at least eighteen-years-old, much later than the usual age at which Potentials start their training.
The Watcher stared at the ruins of the place she had considered to be her home for so many years now, and kept a moment of silence, and then stalked off, first to the Council house in Rome, promising herself that after that, she would go to the Council house in St. Petersburg, The Council had to be resurrected, she knew, and beyond that, she had to find her ward as soon as possible, in the case that her ward was Called without knowing about her sacred duty.
Great Russell Street, England, 2002.
The main building of the Council of Watchers had been blown up into bits. Chunks of brick, slivers of glass, and hunks of stone lay scattered over the broken gravel, much of the debris also containing within it the flesh, blood, and bone of Watchers, Council operatives, Slayers-in-Training, and many of the demons that the Council had secretly kept there to observe and study, possibly to find ways of annihilating them. The disaster area was a heartbreaking site to take in, what with all the memories of the grand old building wiped out with the explosion.
The scene, though, was even sadder if one such as Marissa Hathaway were to come upon it as the Watcher did at that moment, her beautiful face pale with worry and wet with tears. Marissa, thirty-four, was a former Slayer-in- Training who had never been Chosen turned Watcher. She was, if anything, strikingly beautiful, as most Slayers and Slayers-in-Training were prone to be. She stood silently, yet gracefully, dressed in an expensive Chanel suit in a shade of buttery cream, with a silky pale peach shirt inside. Her cream briefcase stood next to her right leg, an expensive piece by Prada, which only a Watcher such as Marissa could afford.
Yet, at that moment, nothing mattered. The Council's headquarters had been destroyed, and along with that senior-most members of the Council as well as the girls most likely to be Called. For all the centuries the Council had put in to battle the forces of darkness, here stood their end. Rubble. Nothing less, nothing more. Just rubble, which in the end just equaled rubbish.
Marissa sighed raggedly, wiping away tears on both cheeks, wishing that she could blame the Order of Sages for this massacre, but knowing that she would be wrong. It was not the Sages who had done this for, in spite of the ages-old rivalry between the peace-loving Sages and the battle-ready Watchers; it was not in the Sages' power to do something so cruel and vicious. Mass-murder could never be the modus operandi of the Sages. But, what then? What could be so heartless as to destroy the Council Headquarters? Joseph Heinrich Nest was long dead, and Skrymir had not been heard of since the incident back in the early 1900's concerning Spike and Drusilla trying to stop the line of the Chosen Ones.
The line of the Chosen Ones.
Suddenly, Marissa's mission came back to her head. The whole reason she had returned to the Headquarters in the first place. Marissa, who had been searching for her ward for the past two years, had remained unsuccessful in finding her and, upon hearing of the sudden spurt of dead Slayers-in- Training, had come to the Council to see if her ward was possibly one of the girls killed. Looks like she would have to keep her hunt going for the girl whom she was supposed to train. Marissa was already late in trying to find the girl, and she was positive that this girl was definitely at least eighteen-years-old, much later than the usual age at which Potentials start their training.
The Watcher stared at the ruins of the place she had considered to be her home for so many years now, and kept a moment of silence, and then stalked off, first to the Council house in Rome, promising herself that after that, she would go to the Council house in St. Petersburg, The Council had to be resurrected, she knew, and beyond that, she had to find her ward as soon as possible, in the case that her ward was Called without knowing about her sacred duty.